


Life Changing

by afteriwake



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amy Pond & John Watson Friendship, Arguing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Determined Amy, F/M, First Love, Kissing in the Rain, POV Amy Pond, POV First Person, Past Amy Pond/Rory Williams - Freeform, Past Sherlock Holmes/Amy Pond (Doctor Who), Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Episode: s07e01 Asylum of the Daleks, Searching For Sherlock, Selfish Amy, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: You don’t forget your first love. I know I never forgot Sherlock. And in the end, I just knew I needed to find him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlowingMechanicalHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/gifts).



> I don’t usually write in first person, and Amy comes off as kind of…not nice to Rory, but I’m still proud of this story.

You never forget your first love. Rory was not my first love. I mean, now, I know I was his first love. Our daughter made a point of making sure I knew. And I loved Rory, I did. But there was someone I loved before, someone who I’m pretty sure did not feel the same way about me. He was my first love, that man, not Rory.

Sherlock Holmes was a maddening bastard half the time. He thought he knew everything, but he did not get women. It took a kiss in the rain for him to even acknowledge that I existed. And there were a few more after that; I was eighteen and head strong and I pursued him with all my heart. But then he just brushed me off one time too many and I went back to Leadworth, back to Rory. But I still thought about Sherlock from time to time.

Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s one day. I was so heartbroken by that. I mean, it hurt me in a way I didn’t think it would. I wanted to go to his funeral but when I mentioned it to Rory he got mad. Rory never gets mad. And it wasn’t as though I’d kept in touch with Sherlock after I left London that summer. But I wanted to say my goodbyes.

In the end, I didn’t go. It wasn’t worth a fight with Rory. But I went later, by myself. Saw a blonde man standing at the headstone. I stayed a distance away, waited for him to leave and then I visited it. Said my peace, turned around…and saw Sherlock, standing off to the side. I knew it was him. He was walking away and I called out his name and he stopped. Turned and looked at me. And then went back to walking.

Rory found out I went. He didn’t yell. He just gave me the silent treatment. That was the hardest thing. I hadn’t snuck out and met another man. I had gone to say goodbye to someone I cared about. And I couldn’t even tell my husband that he had faked his death. Sherlock was just something we didn’t talk about.

Rory and I had problems beyond that, though. I still craved adventure, craved travel. I might not be able to travel through time or space, but as a model, I could travel around the world. So I took more assignments away from London. I put distance between myself and him. I didn’t cheat, I never cheated, but I began to put other things in front of my husband. And in the end, we just drifted apart. I wasn’t surprised when he moved out. I had hurt him, and he knew it was over.

I was selfish. I hurt a good man, a man who loved me and waited nearly two thousand years for me. And I must have still loved him a little because I didn’t want to hurt him anymore. He would hurt less if he wasn’t married to me. But I knew I wasn’t going to rest until I found Sherlock Holmes again.

The Doctor wouldn’t help. He just wanted me and Rory back together again, and that wasn’t what I wanted. I know he cared about Rory, but I needed to do this. I needed to find him, and even now I can’t explain why. Sherlock probably wouldn’t care. He might even try and make it impossible. But I had to _try_. And if the Doctor wouldn’t help then I’d have to do it on my own.

I started with Sherlock’s friend, the blonde man I had seen at his tombstone. When I told him I had known Sherlock, knew what he looked like and when I called his name that day he turned and looked, John believed me. I think John needed to believe in me with every fiber of his being. And Sherlock had apparently taught John well. We immediately got to work on finding him.

Mrs. Hudson offered me the basement flat at 221B Baker St. She had initially offered me Sherlock’s room but I refused. I told her we’d bring him back, so I took the basement. I’d had better rooms. I’d had a nice house, but I gave that to Rory in the divorce to do what he wanted with. He sold it, sent me half the money. I spent it on the rent of my room and plane tickets to search. Being a model made it easier. If we got a lead I could just take an assignment somewhere nearby and poke around.

John and I became close. There was never an attraction between us, never that. We just had a common cause: find Sherlock and bring him home. We worked hard at that. Every lead we got we tracked down. Every lead we got led us to a dead end. And then there would be another lead, and then another dead end. It was maddening, but John and I got close and stuck it out.

It took three years. Three years of lead after lead, dead end after dead end, but then we headed to America. We found him, and God, he looked different. Bone thin, hollow, like he was living on caffeine and the barest amount of food. He nearly shot me before John was able to get him to snap out of it. Then he yelled at John for a bit, then rounded on me. I thought Rory’s silent treatment was bad, but Sherlock’s yelling was worse. So I did what I usually did when I got yelled at: I yelled back. That seemed to shock Sherlock.

He was done, though. The criminal network was in pieces. No one would come after John or Mrs. Hudson or other friends of his. They were all safe now. John was relieved and said they needed to get him home. I agreed. He had figured out that we were following him, trying to find him. He told me I was stupid for ruining my marriage over him; I told him it was none of his damn business what happened to my marriage. He asked why I cared; I told him that if nothing else he had been a friend, and when I saw him at the cemetery I knew I needed to find him. He said it was stupid; I told him to shut the hell up. And he did.

It was strange, the first few weeks he was back at home. John and I had developed a rhythm in the three years we’d lived together. It was disrupted when Sherlock arrived. There was a lot of giving and take between us all. It took almost two months for us to get sorted. I ignored the gunshots at odd hours in the morning and the body parts in the fridge and the mad science experiments he’d do. He tried to ignore my presence altogether but John wouldn’t let him. After a while, Sherlock grudgingly accepted I was part of the household too.

The night when it all changed it was raining. It was just Sherlock and I in the flat, and we were both antsy. He said something, I don’t remember what, and I’d just had a rotten day that I snapped. I yelled and then I grabbed my jacket and went outside in the rain. I’d started smoking two years prior and I stood under the awning of the deli to have a cigarette. I was halfway done when the door opened and Sherlock stalked out. I thought he wanted to continue the fight. I dropped my cigarette, went into the rain and got ready to yell when he stepped into my space, put an arm around my waist and pulled me close. All he said was “I’m sorry” and then he kissed me.

This kiss was different than the ones from when I was eighteen. It was different from the ones I’d shared with my husband. There had been something casual about the teenage kisses. The kisses with Rory had been steadying and stable. This kiss felt like I was about to explode. I didn’t care that we were getting soaked, this felt like it was what I’d been craving for so long. We stayed like that for a long while, water dripping down on us, and then we pulled apart. We only stayed like that for a moment before I pulled him back inside and took him to my room. You can pretty much guess what happened there.

I have no clue what we have right now. We still snap at each other. He hasn’t once referred to me as his girlfriend, and I don’t know if he’s actually my boyfriend or not. But I know that night in the rain made me realize that bringing him home was one of those things I’m glad I did, even if my life completely changed because of it. Whatever we have now, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.


End file.
